So I know that some of you are like me. You enjoy being under the influence of substances. I've decided to write trip reports after consuming substances and have shown this one to somebody on here, I've gotten some good feedback on it so why not post it here and let everyone read it, right? Right, OK, so here it is...but first, some music 
One of my favorite bands with such powerful lyrics and musical composition abilities that stretch out beyond infinite landscapes...
Perhaps it was the curious itch that resides within me. The same itch I've had time and time again. To question this state of "sobriety" that I've encapsulated myself in for most of my young, independent thinking life (or so I'd like to think) would not be as farfetched now as it once used to be. Perhaps this itch has found a scratch. the death of it's existence is merely it's very own temporary, intoxicated form; mirrored, yet quite different. Soon it will all be over, and "sobriety" will reign supreme in the various realms of altered perception. It is and will be the poster child of the involuntary state of being. But after all, altering your very own perception isn't the only way to feel a loving touch. For instance, one nostalgic moment may influence your very existent state of being and redirect the route you are on. A warm, loving touch brought to you by the heavens in your mind and the God within you to allow such a miraculous occurrence in that point in your life.
Itches are temporary because over-indulgence in the scratch will only lengthen an uncomfortable pain. Where once resided a small itch, now with a bull-dozed home, is replaced by the rubble filth standards of intoxicated rubbish. The gluttonous scratch will bleed your sobriety and torture your being. Allow the passing to occur, allow the heal time to pass as well. A healthy mentality envisions the brightest of all luminescent beings, not while over-consumption takes the driver's seat.
It was K2, I believe "Peace Out" was the brand of the night. I stood with Paul in the dimly lit, music filled atmosphere of the living room. We indulged our cannabinoid craving itch with a hefty, lengthy scratch that night. I consumed an entire bowl, four large bong hits did the trick. A brave, somewhat foolish and yet deserving dose. The inhale/exhale sequence felt rapid and smooth. I enjoyed the taste, the yummy taste of an altered mind.
It didn't take long before I felt it's effect. Immediately after I cashed the massive bong, I packed one up for Paul. I had a few minutes with him while he joined in the act, a beautiful one at best. Moments later, I wandered about, enjoying this new alteration of absolutely everything I have ever came to the conclusion of as being real. I found myself lovingly connecting with Morgan, my cat. With vision now becoming an obstacle, a hurdle I must try to tackle and relearn, I rose from my position to an upright, Neanderthal-like stance. The ability to function simple motor skills now becoming a near impossible feat, I determine it logical to remain in bed for the duration of my trip.
I spend what seems like hours in the kitchen, both petting Morgans flabby stomach and attempting to operate the sink. All that has been such a familiarity has now become a task, the known unknown. Grueling missions of indecisive hot and cold water battalions posing difficulty in choosing a side, I was neutral that night. With the sink battle over, I stumble through the corridor, arriving at the mouth of the miniscule tunnel-like hallway. I reach the living room where Paul sat quietly while reading what was most likely an amazing book. Jason sat painting on the wooden planked floor in our art corner. My thought of sobriety was questioned several times near this point. I wanted to know where I was, not geographically, but consciously, mentally, and spiritually. These answers would present themselves thoughtout various stages of the night.
My destination was clear, bed! I needed to lay down, in safety, where I may summon sobriety, for this state I have quickly inflicted upon myself was one of fear at this point. Fear of the unknown, Fear that I have lost my mind and my body. An attachment to my physical form soon became a seperate entity. I now felt a strangeness, a controlling urge to operate my very own body. I was now relearning, or at least trying to, function as an unknown being outside my body attempting to move about. Walking proved to be quite the challenge as I drifted away back into the dark, abyssmal corridor where, ironically, my bed shelter remained.
Creaking floor boards rang aloud as my passage to "safety" awaited me. I finally made it back home! But Wait!! There is an unfamiliarity lurking about in the depths of my resting area. I hastily imprison my pupils behind flesh curtains and seal them in with insecurity. I was afraid, petrified of what will come next had I not blackened my vision with the absolute deepest of purples. With optical perception now blinded with closed eyed visuals of kaleidoscope forms, geometric and colorful, at times too bright to focus on. I lay there, clenched in a cosmic blanket of uncertainty.
More and more, geometry was abundant in my visions. I clenched and tensed my body, involuntarily might I add. Each time the light became bright to become a beacon of heaven where the Gods await arrival. I felt as if my time to relinquish my soul from my vessel had come to be. My death was a highly likely possibility at this point. The transition to whatever is next was playing out completely unlike any formal imagination I have ever conjured. Again, I was fearful, was there a hell? Was this a trick? No! It cannot be! I won't accept my ending of one life and an entering of something new to be one of doubt. I have learned to accept the outcome. I have learned to acknowledge the unknown as a distant, loving neighbor. I felt closer to God more than ever. I felt it was time to say hello.***
***This is where my recollection of that mind-blowing/altering night ends. It would
be several months until I respectfully partake in the consumption of such an
expansive substance. Appreciate and never over-indulge. Practice love for all, nobody is perfect. As humans, we must give all our efforts selflessly to the betterment of all our kin, the inhabitants of this immensely beautiful planet.
~A~S~
As a little note, I do not by any means promote the usage of the substance referenced. Further trip reports I've written and have also read from others written online signify that the trips that can be had aren't always pleasant. My last trip smoking K2 was hellish and to risk entering such a pitiful realm would be foolish of me. This entry was simply meant to express how I felt on that night and what happened. I've also discovered as of March 1, 2011, five cannabinoids, JWH-018, JWH-073, CP-47,497, JWH-200, and cannabicyclohexanol are now illegal in the US. These are active ingredients that are found in K2 and other "spices" and I'm not one for criminalizing substances, I think we have the right to choose what we do with our bodies, but I won't smoke this stuff ever again.
Research everything you put into your body, whether it's drugs or food. We are finite vessels housing an eternal being, we should respect our bodies.
"Appreciate this chance to be alive and breathing." M.J.K.
One of my favorite bands with such powerful lyrics and musical composition abilities that stretch out beyond infinite landscapes...
Perhaps it was the curious itch that resides within me. The same itch I've had time and time again. To question this state of "sobriety" that I've encapsulated myself in for most of my young, independent thinking life (or so I'd like to think) would not be as farfetched now as it once used to be. Perhaps this itch has found a scratch. the death of it's existence is merely it's very own temporary, intoxicated form; mirrored, yet quite different. Soon it will all be over, and "sobriety" will reign supreme in the various realms of altered perception. It is and will be the poster child of the involuntary state of being. But after all, altering your very own perception isn't the only way to feel a loving touch. For instance, one nostalgic moment may influence your very existent state of being and redirect the route you are on. A warm, loving touch brought to you by the heavens in your mind and the God within you to allow such a miraculous occurrence in that point in your life.
Itches are temporary because over-indulgence in the scratch will only lengthen an uncomfortable pain. Where once resided a small itch, now with a bull-dozed home, is replaced by the rubble filth standards of intoxicated rubbish. The gluttonous scratch will bleed your sobriety and torture your being. Allow the passing to occur, allow the heal time to pass as well. A healthy mentality envisions the brightest of all luminescent beings, not while over-consumption takes the driver's seat.
It was K2, I believe "Peace Out" was the brand of the night. I stood with Paul in the dimly lit, music filled atmosphere of the living room. We indulged our cannabinoid craving itch with a hefty, lengthy scratch that night. I consumed an entire bowl, four large bong hits did the trick. A brave, somewhat foolish and yet deserving dose. The inhale/exhale sequence felt rapid and smooth. I enjoyed the taste, the yummy taste of an altered mind.
It didn't take long before I felt it's effect. Immediately after I cashed the massive bong, I packed one up for Paul. I had a few minutes with him while he joined in the act, a beautiful one at best. Moments later, I wandered about, enjoying this new alteration of absolutely everything I have ever came to the conclusion of as being real. I found myself lovingly connecting with Morgan, my cat. With vision now becoming an obstacle, a hurdle I must try to tackle and relearn, I rose from my position to an upright, Neanderthal-like stance. The ability to function simple motor skills now becoming a near impossible feat, I determine it logical to remain in bed for the duration of my trip.
I spend what seems like hours in the kitchen, both petting Morgans flabby stomach and attempting to operate the sink. All that has been such a familiarity has now become a task, the known unknown. Grueling missions of indecisive hot and cold water battalions posing difficulty in choosing a side, I was neutral that night. With the sink battle over, I stumble through the corridor, arriving at the mouth of the miniscule tunnel-like hallway. I reach the living room where Paul sat quietly while reading what was most likely an amazing book. Jason sat painting on the wooden planked floor in our art corner. My thought of sobriety was questioned several times near this point. I wanted to know where I was, not geographically, but consciously, mentally, and spiritually. These answers would present themselves thoughtout various stages of the night.
My destination was clear, bed! I needed to lay down, in safety, where I may summon sobriety, for this state I have quickly inflicted upon myself was one of fear at this point. Fear of the unknown, Fear that I have lost my mind and my body. An attachment to my physical form soon became a seperate entity. I now felt a strangeness, a controlling urge to operate my very own body. I was now relearning, or at least trying to, function as an unknown being outside my body attempting to move about. Walking proved to be quite the challenge as I drifted away back into the dark, abyssmal corridor where, ironically, my bed shelter remained.
Creaking floor boards rang aloud as my passage to "safety" awaited me. I finally made it back home! But Wait!! There is an unfamiliarity lurking about in the depths of my resting area. I hastily imprison my pupils behind flesh curtains and seal them in with insecurity. I was afraid, petrified of what will come next had I not blackened my vision with the absolute deepest of purples. With optical perception now blinded with closed eyed visuals of kaleidoscope forms, geometric and colorful, at times too bright to focus on. I lay there, clenched in a cosmic blanket of uncertainty.
More and more, geometry was abundant in my visions. I clenched and tensed my body, involuntarily might I add. Each time the light became bright to become a beacon of heaven where the Gods await arrival. I felt as if my time to relinquish my soul from my vessel had come to be. My death was a highly likely possibility at this point. The transition to whatever is next was playing out completely unlike any formal imagination I have ever conjured. Again, I was fearful, was there a hell? Was this a trick? No! It cannot be! I won't accept my ending of one life and an entering of something new to be one of doubt. I have learned to accept the outcome. I have learned to acknowledge the unknown as a distant, loving neighbor. I felt closer to God more than ever. I felt it was time to say hello.***
***This is where my recollection of that mind-blowing/altering night ends. It would
be several months until I respectfully partake in the consumption of such an
expansive substance. Appreciate and never over-indulge. Practice love for all, nobody is perfect. As humans, we must give all our efforts selflessly to the betterment of all our kin, the inhabitants of this immensely beautiful planet.
~A~S~
As a little note, I do not by any means promote the usage of the substance referenced. Further trip reports I've written and have also read from others written online signify that the trips that can be had aren't always pleasant. My last trip smoking K2 was hellish and to risk entering such a pitiful realm would be foolish of me. This entry was simply meant to express how I felt on that night and what happened. I've also discovered as of March 1, 2011, five cannabinoids, JWH-018, JWH-073, CP-47,497, JWH-200, and cannabicyclohexanol are now illegal in the US. These are active ingredients that are found in K2 and other "spices" and I'm not one for criminalizing substances, I think we have the right to choose what we do with our bodies, but I won't smoke this stuff ever again.
Research everything you put into your body, whether it's drugs or food. We are finite vessels housing an eternal being, we should respect our bodies.
"Appreciate this chance to be alive and breathing." M.J.K.
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"The only word in the 20-volume historical Oxford English Dictionary that rhymes with orange is sporange, a very rare alternative form of sporangium (a botanical term for a part of a fern or similar plant)."